Fire Within
by Hazuki Ninja
Summary: The tale of Asuma Sarutobi from the viewpoint of some...thing rather unbiased. They tell the story of a ninja who wasn't perfect, had his share of problems, but also had many friends and a woman he loved. Asuma-centric, not really any pairings Please R&R!


**Kay, so I know I said I would update HiNaV soon, but this poor story has been sitting in a notebook for ages! T.T I felt so sorry for this poor little guy, so I had to type it up. Besides that, this is Asuma centric, with a touch of Shikamaru in it. Don't ask me where I got the idea from, cause I have NO clue ^^ but isn't that how all great works start out? Well, I'm done rambling, so go and read it! And please, PLEASE review! Oh yeah, and Naruto doesn't belong to me. But one day it shall be mine!!! MWAHAHAHAHA-cough, cough, hack- Er, sorry. Please continue reading.**

Myself and my family were created in a place of dark waters, creeping plants, foul smells, and mysterious creatures. Filled with the very essence of these marshes, we live to serve the flamekeepers. They who are referred to as flamekeepers can hold the fire in their very hands, but that is not the only reason why we call them that. A different sort of fire comes from them, a flame within you could say, but not all hold this sliver of hot, twisting light.

My vast family and I have all come to a man with fire so large it is unbelievable, even to us. He was young for a flamekeeper when we first met him, with smooth lips and soft hands. He took one of us off his father's desk in the dark of night, with no other keepers around to watch. His father was not fond of us, and had so, but the rough hands still groped for us occasionally. This new keeper though, he did not hate us. Water was on his face and splashed us as his hand-fire lit us. His heart-fire was small and quivering; perhaps it was because of something he continued to whisper about, something called, "mu-ddar."1 Three of us were lit that night by the boy's flames, water, always water, falling upon us.

The boy began carrying us in his warm side-pouch. Fumbling hands became steady, and changed from soft to hardened and tough, though no less caring. The chapped lips of the growing flamekeeper became familiar to us all.

Sometimes though, he would not touch us for many life spans2. This was not often thankfully. To have lips caress us, breathe us in, and to have our essence drifting in a cloud of smoke: these are our hopes and our dreams.

We traveled far with the now-grown flamekeeper, to places of steep slopes, roaring waters, even a place of bells, gongs, chanting, and incense. Through all this, at least some of us stayed with the man of much heart-fire. At times we would be dropped, but out, set down before our time was done. The flamekeeper had his reasons though, or at least we believe he did. Sometimes it was to strike others with flashing sticks, glinting in the sunlight. Other times it was when a woman, who smelled of warm spices and fresh earth, would visit. And instead of putting his lips around us, they would find their way to the woman; we were not jealous at all though. We are here to serve, and that is it. Nothing more.

A recent time ago, he put us away for dozens of life spans. His inner-flame flickered with uncertainty constantly. We ached to help ease it, but he refused. We were still with him though, wherever he went, hearing him murmur with his student, who had looked at us, loathed us, and then grew to care for us. However, the shadow-son never let his fire light any of my family.

Soon after we were set away, there came more clashing of shinning sticks that brought forth warm red water. We felt much of this fall upon our pocket of safety, and at the same time, our master's soul-fire quivering weakly. We felt him fall. We felt his kind student, a son almost, carry our keeper of the flames. We felt him once more lay upon the cold, chillingly cold, ground. We felt, we _ached_, with the feeling of helplessness. Some of us wished that we could not feel at all.

Our Lord's spirit-flame was a mere sliver of what it once was, and still growing smaller by the second. We begged to be held by our master. We wanted to coax his inner fire back to its former strength! But all there is is more quiet whispers and gentle, flowing, miniature rivers. Finally, we feel a hand open our pouch; but when the fingers touch us, we know it is not him, our flamekeeper. It is the wise hand of his student, the son of shadows. His hands, hard, but not at the strength of our master's, guide us to our man's lips. The fire within him is almost gone; just embers remain. Palm-fire engulfs us, and a raspy breath inhales our very being. More water is falling, both from the sky and of the young flamekeepers around us. We eventually drop from the master's mouth. His fire is gone.

The shadow student picks us up; even the one that dropped to the harsh, unforgiving ground. With great care, he gently puts us in a pocket of his own. Then he draws me from the pack, and with the fumbling hands so like our lord flamekeeper of young, lights me. His flame is shrunken, and is wavering wildly. Water falls upon me, though not from the sky. With coughing and more water, I rest in his lips. They too are chapped, as was our master's, but this mouth is hard. It is as if he is afraid to let go of me. His fire grows slightly steadier as he breathes in the calming fragrance of the marshes we all hold.

Life spans later, our long lived flamekeeper is returned to the earth, a package of us there to rest with him. The rest of us are with the young keeper, whose spirit-fire has grown in the time since our master's death. It is still weak, but continues to heal with every breath of our essence, filled with the sweetness of the fog, bitterness of herbs, and the mystique of the ancient marshes and a new dawn…

END

**So, that didn't turn out quite how I hoped. I wrote this a while ago, and I've definitely improved since then, so this isn't up to my usual standards. As always though, I'm too lazy to actually change anything, so I'm posting it as it is. I'll probably get around to redoing it in the future, but not any time soon most likely. Anyways, hoped you all enjoyed! Please review!!**

**Oh yeah, forgot these little side notes:**

**1****: Mother. I'm making so little Asuma is sad because his mother died.**

**2****: life spans refer to the time it takes to smoke a cigarette, and how many per day the current master smokes them. So I'm saying Asuma smokes somewhere between 3 and 4 per day, since he always has one. **

**Last thing, then you can leave: in the anime, Shikamaru doesn't smoke a cigarette; he just plays with the lighter. I'm going with the manga, in which he actually smokes them after Asuma dies. **

**Alright I lied. THIS is the last thing: please vote for the pairing you want in HiNaV on my profile! I know I said SaixSakura, but if that's not what you guys want, I have an idea of how to make it something else. So please go vote, because I can't finish until you tell me! Thanks everyone! **


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